Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “What did Wallace say?”

  “He hasn’t said much of anything. But he gets the gravity of the situation. I’m locked in a back office.”

  “He could have put you in a cell, Mack.”

  “I know. I think he’s reeling from the allegation about Stanford.”

  “Without a doubt. Nothing to do now except tell the truth, which will bite someone in the ass. Let’s just hope it’s not yours.”

  Chapter 14

  Don had an appointment at the Toronto Police Service at 4 p.m. The conversation with the Ontario Provincial Police was a courtesy. To kill time, he walked around the downtown neighborhood. Toronto had a feeling of purpose. Don wouldn’t be able to explain it to Charlie or his wife Rita if they asked, but he felt an energy in this city that Detroit was missing.

  Don found a McDonald’s and took a seat facing Grenville Street. A few teenagers came in, ordered fries and sodas, and left, eating and laughing. The other customers were clusters of older Asian women in animated conversation who commandeered the corners of the restaurant.

  “Novak, I need you to check out something for me,” Don said into his phone.

  “Don, it’s customary to say hello when you begin a call.”

  “Don’t start with me. I already spoke with you once today. I’m done with hellos. I might have to stay overnight. Check out some reasonably priced places for me, will ya? A motel is better, so I don’t have to pay for parking.”

  “Okay. You’re in Toronto now.”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you speak to Charlie?”

  “Yep. She called from DPD.”

  “What should we do?”

  “About what?”

  “About Charlie! What if they put her in jail?”

  “I think she’d already be behind bars if they intended to press charges. Anyway, let’s not worry about that until we have to. Did you find anything about the other suspects?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Alright. I have a meeting in a half hour with the Toronto detective. If I don’t answer, leave me a message.”

  # # #

  Toronto’s police and municipal building looked like a museum—glass-block windows, pink granite, and weird angles. Too artsy-fartsy for Don’s tastes. The police headquarters in Detroit’s Greektown was built like a place where justice and punishment were meted out—for better or for worse.

  Detective Harper Li greeted Don in the massive first-floor atrium. It was bright and airy with a floating staircase to the upper levels and a domed ceiling. Li was talkative, and he chattered as they took the stairs to the fourth floor. Don saw an elevator, but apparently this young detective’s cardio workout included stair climbing. Li was a seven-year veteran of the police service. He’d been born in Hong Kong, but his parents immigrated to Toronto when he was fifteen years old.

  “They were both fans of American culture,” Li said. “I know more about the U.S. than most Canadians. My mother read every classic American book she could find. That’s why I’ve got this name, Harper. Get it?” Li joked. “My younger brother’s name is Robert E.”

  Don smiled at the acknowledgment of the confederate general, but hadn’t caught the literary reference.

  “My mom has a few relatives in Michigan. We might have moved to Detroit, but it was easier for us to migrate to Canada where most of my parents’ family and friends were going.”

  “Toronto’s a nice city. I walked around a little before our appointment,” Don said. “I think right now it’s got a lot more going for it than Detroit. We’ve had financial problems in the last few years. Our downtown looks nothing like this.”

  “So I’ve read. But you still have car bragging rights. I bought a Camaro last year.”

  “Nice. I saw the new Camaro at the auto show a couple of years ago. It’s a whole lotta car. I drive a Buick Lucerne. Eight-cylinder. I need the power and the space. I have a son and a daughter on the way.”

  Li settled in his chair, ready to shift to business. Don did the same.

  “Detective Wallace asked me to pave the way for you to interview Caesar Sturdivant,” Li said. “I pulled his sheet. His father is deceased, an émigré from Antigua, but Sturdivant was born here. His mother is American. Still alive and moved back to Ohio a decade ago. His criminal record dates back twenty years. What’s your interest?”

  “He may be connected to a homicide in Detroit. We, or rather the police, picked up his print at the crime scene. My partner and I are investigating his possible involvement in the murder of our client’s brother.”

  Li looked skeptical. “He’s been convicted of assault, breaking and entering, and larceny. He’s a chronic criminal, but not a murderer.”

  Don nodded. “I understand. But the person who may have hired him is very rich. Sturdivant may have gotten an offer he couldn’t resist.”

  “Well, he’s in a correctional facility about forty miles from the city. He’s agreed to see you tomorrow morning. I’ll drive you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I have a car.”

  “I’ve been ordered to accompany you on the visit,” Li said bluntly.

  “Okay. Got it. But I’ll pick you up.”

  Li shook his head. “Nope. We need to show up in a patrol car. I bypassed procedure, and finagled with a lot of gatekeepers to get you in with him on such short notice. Believe me, the Bureau of Prisons does not like changes to the routine. Visiting hours are on weekends. Inmate meetings require a minimum of three guards. I had to tell them you’re a bigwig from Detroit just to get you the appointment.”

  “What time do you need me here?” Don asked.

  “Get here at eight-thirty. We can’t get into the facility until ten.”

  # # #

  Don called Judy from his car. “Hello, Don!” she answered.

  “Hello. Satisfied?”

  “I am. So, are you staying?”

  “Yes. I have an early appointment. So I need a place downtown.”

  “I already found you a place. You want me to book it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll text you the info. Meanwhile, Charlie’s here now and wants to speak with you.”

  “So you’re not in jail,” Don said when Charlie got on the line.

  “No. DPD is just glad to have Franklin in custody. Wallace is a good guy. He told his bosses some story about Franklin calling me after he was shot, and he hasn’t kicked Franklin’s suspicions about Fairchild upstairs.”

  “Smart man. What’s next for your ex?”

  “He’ll be in the hospital a day or two under protection, then moved to an infirmary. I had to call his parents and Pamela. She was hysterical. She thinks she’ll use her father’s influence to have Franklin moved to a suburban hospital.”

  “You know he’s still in danger, don’t you, Mack? If we’re right about things, Fairchild will be trying to keep Franklin from talking.”

  “I know. I convinced Wallace to double up on the police detail at the hospital. He’s on our side, Don, but that means he’s way out on a limb. You should give him a call to let him know about your progress with Sturdivant. Are you seeing him tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. One of the detectives here pulled some strings to get that done. Nice guy. Young. Talks a lot. Chinese. His name’s Harper Li.”

  “Oh, like the author,” Charlie said. “That’s a funny name to give a Chinese kid. I guess somebody really liked To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  “I guess so,” Don said, clueless.

  “Okay, here’s Judy with your motel info. I’ll call you later tonight. Pamela is insisting on an in-person meeting. She’s on her way. I need to figure out what I can tell her.”

  # # #

  Pamela arrived at the Mack offices at 6 p.m. dressed down in designer jeans, Jimmy Choo shoes, and a three-quarter black zip-up leather coat. Her blond hair was pulled back with a red leather headband, and her Burberry satchel was the size of overnight luggage.

  She assessed the office suite as Charlie and Jud
y escorted her to the conference room. Judy had made a fresh pot of coffee, but Pamela said she preferred the small bottle of apple-grape juice offered. She didn’t show any signs of the anxiety she’d displayed earlier in the day, but her eyes were tinged red, and a few dark circles betrayed the expertly applied concealer.

  “I wanted to meet here, rather than the house, because I didn’t want Father to be involved,” Pam said. “He’s not even pretending anymore. He’s convinced Franklin killed Peter, and has been on the phone all afternoon with the police chief and the hospital administrator. They all believe he’s concerned about his son-in-law, but really Daddy wants Franklin to stand trial for Peter’s murder.”

  Pamela paused to take a deep breath. She unzipped her jacket and removed a Burberry wool scarf.

  “How’s your mother?” Judy asked.

  “Sad and exhausted.”

  “I’m sure this is very hard on her.”

  Pam nodded her agreement. “I told Daddy you’re following up on other suspects who may have killed Peter.”

  Charlie and Judy glanced between them momentarily, aware that last bit of info might mean trouble for them.

  “How did he respond to that?” Charlie asked.

  “He was skeptical. I thought he’d be impressed that your colleague was traveling all the way to Toronto, but he seemed annoyed.”

  There was an awkward silence while Charlie and Judy waited to see if Pamela had more to say. After all, she’d called this meeting. Charlie moved to the coffeemaker and poured herself another cup from the carafe. She poured more coffee for Judy, too, and returned to the table. Pamela kept her eyes fixed on Charlie.

  “I understand you were with Franklin when he was shot.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “It’s not difficult for Daddy to get information.”

  Charlie let that sink in.

  “I guess not. Your father has a lot of influence. Franklin’s mother arranged for us to meet. He was ready to turn himself in.”

  “Sylvia called you?” Pamela’s voice couldn’t disguise her anger. Her face twitched. She was not a person used to looking through the lens of green-eyed envy.

  Charlie squared her shoulders, clenching her jaw, suddenly feeling her own anger at being challenged.

  “My mother called me,” Charlie said icily. “She and Sylvia are church friends. They thought having me accompany Franklin to the police would be the safest thing to do.”

  “That turned out not to be right,” Pamela said sarcastically.

  “We’ve heard from our partner in Canada,” Judy said, trying to lessen the friction. “The police found a fingerprint of a convicted felon at Peter’s apartment, and Don has determined this man’s whereabouts.”

  “You think this is who killed Peter?”

  “It’s a reasonable guess,” Charlie said.

  “Well, that is good. What’s this person’s name?” Pamela asked, pulling out her phone to make a note.

  “He’s been identified as Caesar Sturdivant,” Charlie said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “No. Why should it?”

  Charlie shifted in her chair. “Just trying to make a connection between this man and Peter, that’s all.”

  “No. I never heard of him. But I’ll ask Daddy.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to get his hopes up,” Charlie lied. “I’d like to be able to rule this guy in or out before we share his name too widely. Deal?”

  Pamela gave some thought to Charlie’s reasoning. “But Daddy’s so sure Franklin is guilty. Maybe knowing about this new guy will give him second thoughts.”

  Charlie shook her head. “It’s better to wait. Please, let us do our job.”

  “I guess I could wait,” Pamela said, putting her phone away.

  “It occurs to me that I’m making a huge assumption,” Charlie said. “Do you want us to stay on the case? Now that Franklin is in custody, you might want to go in a different direction.”

  “Yes, of course you’re still on the case. As soon as the police realize Daddy believes Franklin is guilty, they’ll stop looking for any other suspects.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. Franklin still protests his innocence.”

  Pamela shook her head. “You noted it yourself, Charlie. My husband isn’t as influential as my father.”

  # # #

  Pamela excused herself to go to the restroom, leaving Judy and Charlie alone in the conference room.

  “She’s jealous of you,” Judy said, unplugging the coffee pot.

  “It got a little tense there for a moment, didn’t it?”

  “I can’t blame her, Charlie. As far as she knows it’s the second time Franklin has been in touch with you, and she’s not heard from him once.”

  “Yeah, I can understand why she’d be pissed.”

  “You think the police will let her see him in the hospital?”

  “Probably.”

  “You think he’ll tell her his suspicions about her father?”

  “I don’t think so. But who knows? You still think she’s innocent?”

  “I think she’s a faithful wife grieving for her dead brother, afraid for her husband, and reeling with how much her life has changed. Like I said, everyone I spoke with says Pamela’s a good player. I don’t care for her nose-in-the-air countenance, but I’m sure it’s because that’s how she was raised. After all, if she loves Franklin, and he loves her, she can’t be too bad, right?” Judy reminded Charlie.

  Charlie responded with an “I’m not so sure” smirk, then stepped down from her high horse and smiled. She was proud of how well Judy was doing in her new investigative role.

  “You know something, Judy Novak, you’re being a show-off. You don’t have to be right all the time.”

  “I need to make some points during my probationary status,” Judy quipped. “Charlie . . .” Judy lowered her voice. “I think you should go with Pamela to the hospital. She’s probably never been to an inner-city hospital. She’ll need someone to hold her hand.”

  Pamela returned from the restroom and began gathering her belongings. She noticed the stares and sudden silence.

  “Why do I feel you two have been talking about me?”

  # # #

  Charlie pulled her car into a visitor space in the hospital lot. Pamela had followed in her Mercedes and opted for valet parking. Charlie waited while Pamela gave the attendant instructions and handed him a bill. It was a big tip because he tilted his hat in tribute, and he wasn’t wearing one.

  Pamela must have called her father on the way over because they’d only been at the hospital five minutes before the automated doors parted and Stanford Fairchild, followed by another man, stepped into the lobby. He entered as if he were at the premiere of a movie starring him.

  Pamela immediately jumped to her feet and ran to her father, who enfolded her in a bear hug. He peered over his daughter’s shoulder at Charlie as she approached.

  “You must be Ms. Mack,” he said, sliding Pamela to his left and extending a hand.

  “Yes sir. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Fairchild.”

  Fairchild had been hearing those words nonstop for almost a week. He’d become practiced at displaying the remorseful eyes and tightened lips. He flashed it all at Charlie. But beneath the kind words and contrite body language, the two sized up each other.

  “I didn’t know you were coming, Daddy,” Pamela cooed.

  Stanford slowly dragged his eyes from Charlie’s and looked down onto Pamela’s teary cheeks.

  “I wanted to make sure you had no trouble seeing Franklin. Have you checked with the front desk yet?”

  “Yes. They sent a message to the officer in charge because he has to approve any visitors.”

  As if on cue, Wallace approached them from the hospital’s east corridor. Charlie hoped the detective was as smart as Don seemed to think he was.

  “Mrs. Rogers,” Wallac
e said. “I understand you want to see your husband. I came down to escort you personally.”

  Wallace nodded to Fairchild and Charlie. The man hovering behind Fairchild hadn’t said a word, but he had the anxious mannerisms of an attorney ready to attack at the signal of his boss.

  “I’m afraid the rest of you will have to wait here,” Wallace said.

  “I understand, detective,” Charlie said, trying to help out. “You’re following protocols.”

  “That’s correct, Ms. Mack.”

  The attorney stepped into the body circle. Wallace listened, stone-faced, while Fairchild and the lawyer, talking simultaneously, made the case for accompanying Pamela to Franklin’s guarded room. Finally, Fairchild recognized the set of Wallace’s jaw as “hell no” and stopped talking. The lawyer did too. Fairchild glowered at the detective and then at Charlie. He wasn’t used to anyone, let alone two African American working stiffs, standing in his way. He turned from the group and began talking into his phone. He was taking his demand up the food chain.

  Wallace took advantage of Fairchild’s shift in focus to guide Pamela toward the elevators. She looked back toward her father, but Wallace was quick.

  “We’ll be right back,” Wallace said over his shoulder.

  Only a few people sat in the lobby. It was a far different scene from yesterday’s emergency waiting room, but the lady at the front desk and the smattering of visitors looked upon the group with interest. Perhaps they recognized Fairchild. Perhaps they recognized the tones and animation of the conversation as potential drama. Charlie took a seat. The lawyer lingered near the middle of the room, watching Fairchild’s back as he spoke to someone on the phone. Eventually, the attorney came to sit across from Charlie.

  “I’m Robert Carlberg with Ziegler and Arnow.”

  “I’m Charlene Mack with Mack Private Investigations.”

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  “Pamela Rogers hired me to help prove her husband’s innocence.”

  The lawyer gave a two hundred-dollars-an-hour shrug. “The case seems fairly cut-and-dried. The police have some definitive evidence against Rogers.”